


Raise Me More, Love

by Rerun_Nachbild



Series: I Have Needed for Ages [2]
Category: Star Trek: A Stitch in Time by Andy Robinson, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Cardassians, Domestic, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 11:01:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30088098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rerun_Nachbild/pseuds/Rerun_Nachbild
Summary: Garak accuses Parmak of teaching him bad habits. However, weren’t they his to begin with? But, then, lovesickness can intensify our less-than-idealistic natures.Title comes from Nizar Kabbani’s poem: “Your Body is My Map.”Inspired by the line in another of Kabbani’s poems, which goes: “Your love has taught me the worst of my habits.”
Relationships: Elim Garak/Kelas Parmak
Series: I Have Needed for Ages [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2210385
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Raise Me More, Love

“My dear, you teach me the worst of habits,” Garak says. A brief inquiry to the computer has revealed that the night long slipped into the morning— and yet here he is, not yet in his night clothes. Parmak is seated in his chair, adjacent to Garak, close enough they can take each other’s hand while they read. They never retired after this evening’s reading, too immersed in discussion, too delighted by the other’s nearness after a long day.

_ Who says lovesickness is a young disease? _ He smiles to himself.

“You cannot tell me, Elim, that you’ve never surrendered an evening to fine tea and company.” Parmak says, then crinkles his eyes. His fingertips around his ceramic cup are so lax he would drop it, were it not cradled in his lap.

_ Such a lovely bed, indeed _ , Garak thinks, with giddy abandon. For he has been cradled there as well and past privilege emboldens him to dream of it again.  _ Such bad habits your love teaches me, Doctor _ . But, he is happy!

Putting aside his internal fun, he looks at his beloved. Evanescent grey-blond locks veil Parmak’s shoulders. In dimness, still he is somehow luminous. Yet, weary. The droop of his jaw betrays him. But for that spritely glint in his eyes, he would seem to be falling asleep.

“It is hardly evening anymore, my love.” Garak chides. “You’ve kept us awake long past the changing hour.”

“Have I?.” Parmak finally closes his eyes. Garak, stealthily, inspects him more closely, as though looking for chinks in his armor. Not that he would exploit—  _ never _ . Instead, he analyzes the rashes of sleep under his lover’s eyes, the lulled breathing, and the weighted movements of joints. He finds these telltales so he can protect them. Just as he has been—

“Oh, but I’m not complaining, dear” Garak says, shifting to an innocent tone. “I’ve loved every moment of your misguided exposition on the current social issues.”

Parmak opened an eye. “And I enjoyed every unsubstantiated, defeatist interjection you made.”

“Now, now, Doctor!” Garak draws out his objection as long and curving as his smile. “It might be inferred that you are blaming  _ me _ for our tardiness in getting to bed.”

Parmak’s eyes are closed again and he merely chuckles. So often he allows Garak to win these scuffles of will— these flirtations. He is not the domineering Cardassian man, the occupier, the aggressor, to which they had each once aspired. Parmak— Kelas— is gentle. Oh,  _ so _ .

Gentle even as they tempt one another. Even when he clasps Garak against his body. Even while he kneads and nibbles and kisses.

How many days — and, ah, the nights!— has Parmak lavished Garak with tenderness? So long beyond his hopes— For he had wanted Kelas, yearned for his presence, whispered his name when he wasn’t there, for more than a year before the dear doctor voiced the same dearly-kept love for him.

Garak struggles against his own heavy eyelids. He stubbornly hides a yawn. Then, he baits his beloved again. Really, how long has he been so indulgent? But he truly does not want this to end. “Why don’t you ever wear that dressing gown I sewed you?”

With no difficulty, Parmak lobbies back: “What need do I have for a garment meant to transition from day clothes to night—” The doctor abruptly lifts his cup, but lets it hover. The aroma of the herbs— which Parmak himself has blended— piques the air. “—when that transition is so regularly  _ interrupted _ .”

The planet is stilled. He is so gratifyingly shocked, he can hardly spare the breath to chuckle. The doctor rarely offers such improprieties. To try to incite them often drives Garak further and further towards making himself an ass. Yet, when he might become discouraged from hunting for that promiscuous spirit, Parmak entices him so.

He says, “It’s as I said, my dear. You inspire the worst of my indulgent nature.”


End file.
